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Every road has its own story
Don't you think so?
The road that runs the desert through
Is long hot sultry mirage like simmering...And the one through the forest is cool
With long and dark shades full
Which play on the wayfarer's face and body
Like little touches so benign...And there are roads also within
Both through desert sands and woods...
And we...all make journeys through them...
We all make journeys the same...

Now the knowledge has dawned on him even
He had been a transcendentalist of seventy seven...
the year of flood and artificial famine
was his year of birth and will always remain...
otherwise why this confusion? this unrest?
why this ritual of afternoon embrace?
why this tumult so unnerving?
why this search rising within?He thought and closed his eyes
Standing still amidst blood and lies
and the city by him impalpably passed
Lousy generic codes filled fibre optics just...
A flash here...there a lightning struck
A halogen yellow went sudden dark...
A red Ducatti double exhaust dream
Like a supernova burnt his outer melanin
And he became so colorless white
A statue of God that fell just in sight
Standing amidst confusion so so quiet...Madness in shape of blaring horns
black glassed kisses in cabs covered- unblown...
Vendors selling cheap spaghetti tops
Carts with apples freshened by rain drops...
Police guards hanging bellied pressing palms...
Quotes so godly straight from psalms...
All …

Telling you a lore of a city
being tilled and ploughed relentless
by earthmovers...gigantic cranes
which like monsters shake
the soil beneath and the sky they mock...
Those monsters by day look chivalric and by the night send waves of shock...Telling you a lore of a lost eden
where trees no shades bear
only cacti with shapeless thorns prick and burden...
visions of life where with morn rise
but by night where they invariably die
like fallen leaves from withered skeletons...
Where sands and ashes fill grasslands like claustrophobic remnants
of morbid tirelessness so brute...Telling you a story of utter loss
of a city -thrown for a toss
for sharks to grab with greedy teeth...
where smoke belching existence with expansion of boundaries meet...

The pebbles of the recent past
Have not yet gathered dust...
The bud of the morning late
is to bloom into flower yet...
The lake water blue glass
is yet to get the breeze's touch...
A pre-dawn moment is so still
So silent peaceful with serenity fills...
As if din and bustle are non existent
As if horns and chaos never civil life reigned...
As if wakeful restless had never torn
Pantheistic deity which the poet forlorn
Savoured full in his sublimated life...It is the hour of sublime birth
Of inherent joy...genomic mirth
Which only beauty of silence can write
A pre dawn moment when comes with darkness bright...

With the thought of writing
Your name on this white page
I'm writing this...
After a long time
My pen has so wished...
To write your name
On the white page-
As I revisit
The days of liquid ink
And handmade paper that soak
Every impression made on it...With the object of finding you
Once again I write
And I know that is another way
Of discovering myself right...

This sky reminds me of autumn
So young...impulsive...gay
A fun filled boyish toy shopping day...
I walk back to hold my mother's finger
So many board games...red cars plastic on shelves when lingered;
Tempting new shoes on racks
Books opening Russian maps...
White kash flowers swinging down the grassy slope...
This sky fills me with autumnal hope-
Of finding my best friend's red tricycle making rumbling sounds
On asphalt...empty afternoon's playground bound...
Of sweet little bits of innocent dream-
Savouring alone a bit of chocopie or cream...
And the restlessness to reach that twin hills at the park
Where some genie would arrive after every sunset dark...
And the thought of flying a smart black and yellow kite
Ripping apart all contenders by its fast fiery flight...
And also of a balcony where the mellowed fairy would turn up
With cheeks powder puffed
And hair tied by ribbon pink oft...

Yes...I have faltered
But I know the course of stream can never be altered...
Yes...I am in a confounded mess
But I know fully how all these years
Poetry in you I desperately traced...
Yes...I know it all...
Where I rose...
And where I did fall...
Where and exactly at what hour
I know the smell of gandharaj flower
Encapsulated me...my soul...my pages of write...
And when did the moon shine on the water bright...
I know...yes...
I know...I know what you sought in me...
And when the first birth of hidden poetry
Rushed you to the labour room
With happy face...closed eyes...full of satiety...
I know...
Yes...I know...When you bit the end of your pen...
When you threw away your phone with disdain...
And which night became dawn
Washed completely by your sobs...
And which days you returned
With tired tears and yawns...
I know...
Yes...I know...When you coiled your end of hair...
When you called me 'An intolerable liar'...
When you termed me 'A fugitive'...
I know it all dea…

Had I not been tired
Surely I would have admired
The wetstone slabs which did reflect
The lights from the closed gates
Of the houses on two sides of the road
And the silver glitz of the swords
Fixed in crosses on the wooden boards
On some walls of the place...called Provence...
Had I not been using contact lens...
I would have surely wiped my glasses
With the soft pinkish cloth a square piece
Kept in my trouser pocket without unease...
And looked again and again to get
The full meaning of the colors that spread
In different directions on the wetstones
I would have made a replica of the sword that shone
Like golden artefact so glamourous...
I would have for a wide angle shoot asked
The people...the curious bystanders...
At that place called Provence...
Where peace that evening came like a newly discovered sense...

At the evening
when the cicadas sing
and the well of smoke
with white curls trees and vegetation soak
and the distant rumble of train
fill the plain with euphemism-
He would take a seat
on the porch...silently tweaked
by Nature's overwhelming magic...
He would become a disciple
avid...restful and perfect recipient...
Of all little changes and things unchanged
Of wide and far and deep and profound range
Of the eternal as metaphors dense
To him like sluggish rain came...'I got to write them down
somewhere in suitable form...
In golden alphabets perhaps which time could never drown...'
So thinking he took up his feathery pen...
So thinking he got engaged into a chain
of thought and imagination intertwined
He filled white pages of his enlightened mind...It took a whole long day
As long as a decade could in mirror on soul stay...
It took real out of him...
His inexhaustible self merged into
the universal being...

'i am at Khowai...where are you dear?
the river is so soft and genteel here...
and the earth is saffron red
and the shadows the trees bred
on the post rain bosom wet
whisper peace and so much of love...
and a song like joy of living
here the breeze to me brings...where are you dear?
missing it all...the heavenly splendour...
that lifts me up to the eternal moment
of ecstasy that only nature to a man can lend...where are you locked up?
To which traffic snarl you stopped?
O dear! here dreams drop from rainbows straight...
here at Khowai...browny red
afternoon siesta of monsoon late
Has some visions of cowsheds sketched...
and the smoke from chullas simply catch
Setting sun's blushes unmatched...Where are you sweetheart?
Fly to me...lightning fast
for the day is to come to an end...
For Khowai would into the dark soon bend...'

When the city returns from work
She adjusts her hair locks...
Just where the flyover takes the speed
To defy the printed limit
on blue boards that glow in dark...
She also arrives to stand...stark...
A lone lustrous figure on dazzle...
To stomach taunts...gestures...smoke from muzzle-
Of cars that don't bother to stop...The city night descends quiet
As she waits eager for headlight
That would come and switch off
To take her to the exact spot
where a machine would for her churn
Coins and dough after a complete burn
of mechanical pulls and pushes...
of playing around shrubs and bushes...
Of human anatomy...hormonal desires
Of plunging full in mud and mires...Then at the day break
She would invariably a long deep breath take...
As if her night has finally come
to give her tranquility some...
As the pigeons on lonely streets catch chaff
As the milkman with cans of life emerge...
She takes her refuge in sleep
And surely dreams of oceans deep
where dolphins play and sun paints joys
She …

On such a rain filled day
Once on your lap of barley fields and hay
I discovered my love, lust and peace...
By the drops of water teased
We started a talk first
Laced with insatiable lust...
Then we got adrift
The motion of the needles swift
On my face...your lips
Took us to newest discoveries...
Of both mental and physical spaces
We glued ourselves to the utmost closeness...

The rainy day graduated in us
From lust we to another chapter passed
Of our co-written book...
And the long leaves of palm which shivered and shook
Dropped spherical dimensions of beads
On us providing different leads
To our story so multispatial
We filled our vials
of minds...to the brim...

Life and Time woven tight
In patterns of stitch work bright
With silk threads of peacock green
We caused birth of huge wide dreams...
We put words in pictures calm
We caught colors of the whole spectrum
Yet to be seen by naked mortal eyes
We our fabric of life with colors dyed...
Colors almost as old as Pre-Raphaelite
And mo…

So as per her wish
The goddess...
I stripped
Of clothes and sins
And desires unseen...
And sat on the rock
Upon which the sun grew dim
And the wind
From the far away lands
Came to pay a visit...
The solid coldness of the night
Grew moist on my uncovered thighs...
And moisture from the sky
Fell on my breast...
Naked like a moon
White...all white...
Just then a sublime tune
Told me plain
It was time
To go unchained...

The blue lagoon sky
with a sprinkle of pink and violet
set my return to den with a sense perfect...
but that glassy tower
when the sky did reflect
I was reminded of you
whom I had physically left...
some hundred miles away
Having no real way
to carry you with me...Yet I do carry you...
In aromatic manner...perfume
mild and so much feminine...
in an image of hair blown...on float...
in touches smelling of only jasmine...
in choked up throat
throbbing for words...
in tachometer beeps
lunging forward...I do carry the warm hugs-
the feel of a thread being somewhere tugged...
the joy of a flower as she tastes rain...
the sublimation of life in a bucket of paints...
the birth of a sensation assuring me bliss beyond time...
the sight of a glass with an umbrella and sliced lime...

Your green android dreams
were there lying on the table it seemed...
It was just one of your half read days
fifty shades of mind on the coverpage...
and a hairclip black with stone studs...
and a picture on the wall of tulip buds...
and there your brown leather bag
with your toiletries surely stuffed...
lipsticks...pollen grains...liners black...
and there on the desk I also discovered...
a few lines written by you on a file cover...
'O My restless mind bestow peace
O You my tormentor give me a kiss...'
I looked and read those lines several times
written in red they just in me chimed...

Reaching the pure blue
lake named after the deepest wish
under the sky so clear
and the dry chill drilling numbness into bones...
Is a revelation by itself...
as if I have come here
with a purpose...
'what the purpose could be?'
asked myself twice...
looking at the flakes of ice
golden dazzling profound
My reflection on the water found...
and also that of the world...
the stray leaves in the wind twisted and twirled...
Caught a glimpse of a silent procession
of monks returning to their stone sculpted stations...
after their customary morning practice...
of visiting the silence absolutely without leash...then watched a flight of a bird
unkown like an arrow straight up
piercing the blue like a sprite-
wonderous happy unprecedented sight...then sat down folded knees
beside the lake...to get the breathing of the breeze
into heart fully inflated...
sat down like forever fated...and kept on staring blank
at the water of the lake...and sank
into me,more and more...
to feel the inner…

Waded through time and water
Like secretive spoils
On wet wet soil...
The grass land ahead was dark
Only a post lone stood and lent
A glow white of moon that spread...Under a small tree which cast
A reflection same of its happy being
On watery pool near...saw you asleep ...
Thought not to wake you up
From your sleep drenched by light so soft...
Only got dangerously close
To you...my white moist rose...
And at once the smell
Of grass...and flakes of sandalwood
Gripped me...and made me lose
All my reserve...my philosophic cues...
I dropped my lips on wet wet you...
And planted an insignia of my dreams
So much smoky like burnt nicotine...
And you without opening your eyes
With your arms like an evening song me tied...And the moon like glow of the post
Mixed with the haze of the rain
Put up a big white curtain
All over us...

On the floor of the courtyard
That leafy motif by you I found
Done last year with all your devotion...In concentric circles you painted
Leaves of trees hung immobile from branches...
And flowers a bit perfect nonetheless...
Colored by different chalks...
Yellow petals...green stalks...
And at the centre of the elaborate design
A red circle solid I did find...While last year you were putting finishing touches
The day turned night and by sticks of matches
Your face with little beads of sweat
I discovered as my only fate...
Your hands were filled with liquid colors
Red,yellow,white,green all layered
On your eyebrow found a stroke
Of yellow and red mixed supercilious
And how then I into laughter broke...That motif is still there on the floor
Of the courtyard where now light through cloud pours...
Reminding me another year has gone
The courtyard knows...what it means to be lone...

Wrist watch told me plain
It was three thirty p.m.
But those dark clouds did descend
In such a manner on the road open
It seemed I reached an evening...Heard in the country night comes fast...
Saw how the dark swallowed up rays last...
Of the sun in a philosophic fashion...
Slow gradual but such an omniscient motion...
Knew this road would take one to the gate
Of horses mounted on its pillars of eternal rest...
Knew there at the end before the door
I would see him one last time more
Rested...slept down...forever young and old...
Knew I would see him with smile put fixed...on holdIt was only three thirty by the afternoon
And still the dark walked so bold and beautiful...
And the road cutting through all trees...bushes and meadows
Beckoned me to rush to touch his shadow...
One last time before he would away go...
One last and final time more...

Through the glass rectangular
One could see upto that far
Where the lean asphalt disappeared
Into the woods of lovely deodars...
And with two coffee mugs striking red
Which all the time warm cozy feels breathed
I by that glass for my mountain girl did wait...My mountain girl...who would every morn come
With flowery songs woven on her white cardigan...
She would come slow penetrating the haze
Of the foggy pines where time a few minutes delayed...
She would walk slow past the churchyard calm
She would arrive with smell of just risen sun...
Pure white as new born babies smile
She would come crossing a score and half postmiles...
The moment I would see her face
On my mind only poems would surface...
I would pour hot dark liquid into mugs...
Waiting still to be caught in her hugs...
Then closing in when the screen got wide
I would see in her hand a bunch of flowers blue and white
Wrought simply by a thin twine
How spread all the sweetness of love mine...I would go quick to open the door
To…

And there were some evenings...
When with a book of Keats
And mind ful of images
I would seek a refuge to your first floor...
To that room with half opened green door...
I would never knock...
The yellow light from the corridor
Would cast my shadow on the floor...and also cut into your room...
Your ghazal seeped bed...
Your red cement cool...
Half awake you would smile
As if you were waiting for the precise time...
And we would talk...
Laugh...burst into blast...
Your dad would sometimes come
Joining us with his songs some...
His voice simple and chaste
Would leave for us sometimes unusual images...
of an ivy on the porch...creeping climbing to reach stars of the night...
Of a village road bending to meet a well...
Of a river bathing in vermillion where someone dwelt...
All these songs would evoke...
And the tingling of glass wares...
Urged us three to get soaked
More into the idyllic passage of evenings...
Lying on the floor sometimes I would
On a scrap of paper draw a tree with c…

'Nothing is going to stop me
From coming back to you...see!'
She said...sort of announced
When upon knocked opening the door
Her standing all drenched in the rain I found...
'What a surprise!'
I muttered blinking twice...
Couldn't believe my own mortal eyes...
Drops of water were on her hair
Like little diamonds they decorated her fair...
And her saree was all so wet...
Her lips also had a moist red...
I stared at her for a few minutes long...
'Manner-less host...won't you welcome me home?'
She smiled and said pressing lips...
I knew in suppression her secrets she keeps...
So ushered her in...asked what should she take...
Tea...coffee...darkest chocolate...
She smiled sitting down on the couch relaxed...
And looking through the window the afternoon outside...
Dark...cloudy...sad like a lost love affair...
Combed her fingers through her hair...
As if she had come all the way
To sit there before me wet and gay...
The smile in her lips was so double edge…

Standing on the hill
When the runaway kid
Watched the distant mill
And the road that to the town leads
He was full of glee...
'Finally I could the horizon see
As clear as the red yellow line...'
And his eyes with wonder did then shine...'How long will it take
For me to meet the daybreak...
Right at that bend of light
Where go to rest all the kites
After the daylong tireless flight
For how many years would one walk
To reach that band...if one walks non stop...'
The kid wondered aloud still staring lost
At the prospect of reaching his oft dreamed spot...Then he finally started the walk
Straight from the hill...the comforting top...
He walked...in rain or shine...
Amidst hails...lightning...snowflakes fine...
He met countless men women and trees...
He travelled through deserts and blooming valleys...
Through long courses of streets...
Through plains covered by mossy leaves...
For how many years he didn't count
He was so much to the golden horizon bound...
His hair gre…

O this mirror for so many nights
Witnessed silent suppressed fights...
And then when from the murky sky
The moon rose somehow to catch a sigh
The mirror took also a fleeting note
Of words gulped down someone's throat...
And then one autumn whence the sky was blue
The mirror recorded how laughter flew
From someone's mouth almost unstoppable...
O the mirror has so many stories to tell...

Haven't said anything
To you ,made no commitment...
Only when the redness
Of the sky draped
Your long slender shape...
I did break
Into poesy spontaneous
As if the river Bheas
Had got recovered...
From being dried...streamless...
I did break...
Into words so many times...
Much like the copper bells that chimed
The arrival of a faraway breeze...
Took no oath...made no promise...
But trembled like new born leaves...
In anticipation of glorious dreams...
Of life on sprout...
Of water filling deserts without doubts...And on some rare occasions went into trance...
Visualising drops of rain choreographing a spriteful dance...
On the streets of my palm...
Crisscrossed fatelanes and lovelanes some...
And in a more heightened state
Made time travels to the iron gates
Of the past intercepting the present tense...
Touched and felt by skin moisture dense...
Also then quite curious a glow was born...
Deep underneath the Atlantic ocean...
Gradually the light from mellowed got vibrant
A splendou…

That mushroom
Grown and spread...
An evocation to the dead...
Perhaps can't be seen...
Now that the city is clean
And glossy tiles and growing green
All had put a layer of happiness
Now one can't find even miniscule trace
Of ashes...grayed hair...rigor mortis...
Lakes filled with stilled floating fish...
Of children lifeless in perambulators...
Of fusion-fission sending jitters...
Of flowers discolored in a wink of an eye...
Of grass burnt like hay...pavements black dyed...Another August six comes to find
Nuclearheads stacked up in horrendous lines...
In arsenals...warehouses...kitchens of power
Cooking a deadly concoction...O dear!

The hamlet had its own charms
Small cottages...haystacks...barns...
And little roads and lanes and streets...
Tiny children at a small park would in the afternoon meet...
And their cries...laughter would echo back...
A mountain range, overlooking guardian, in lighter black...
And through the hutment a rivulet ran...
A small bridge over her made of rough wooden planks...
Everytime would anyone pass by it...
It would breathe a long drawn screech...
And there were trees -old pines tall...
Their shadows on the streets would in daytime fall...
And walking through that shadowy turn...
Women of the village from woods would return...
Bundles of firewood balanced on their heads...
They would walk silent tired like dead...
But in the evening...when the men would in inebriated state...
By the bonfire sing songs of autumn late...
The otherwise placid life of the hamlet
Would rise above the deathly silence...
The songs would reach high and above
To mix with the night air dense like newly found lov…